Chapter from the Life of Templar Iollan
by The Golden Pantaloons
Summary: This was written for the Dragon Age writing contest promoting the new novel Asunder, as such I had to restrain some of my natural urges to elaborate on certain points ;  Just a small story from the POV of a Templar escorting a mage on an assignment.


9:36, that was a year I remember well. My third year being a full Templar and the first time I had been sent off alone to escort a mage. Not that it had seemed so impressive at the time. The man in question was the most docile mage I have ever encountered in all my years: Enchanter Ronan. Bland personality, plain face and hair with just enough red in it to be called interesting. We were unimportant in whatever grand scheme the Fereldan Circle had going, and so it was not an issue to send us to investigate rumors of strange goings on in a village far to the south of Lake Calenhad. It had been almost funny when the planning turned out to be the longest part of that journey. It took me weeks to figure out the route to travel because the village wasn't even on a sodding map. I still don't think it is.

You think after writing down ten years of my own life I'd be getting better at this, Maker knows I wish I was, but I'm not. I'm afraid there's no more deep introspection here than the last chapters (the Revered Mother would be so disappointed in me), so I'll just write it down as I recall—whether my memories be right or wrong.

First I remember the cold, watching my breath fog and join the low hanging mist over the river. The small boat I'd hired to take us south had moved slower the farther we traveled, making the trip even more agonizing.

Enchanter Ronan would sit at the prow most days, looking over some ragged tome. Often I would give in and join him, though our conversations would habitually go something like this:

"_Find anything interesting? An explanation for those 'mysterious' songs they reported?" _were my usual questions, and usually there would be no response until the third or fourth repetition.

Ronan's head would then rise slowly before he even registered my presence._ "Oh yes…was there something you wanted Iollan?"_

I would sigh in exasperation._ "Never mind."_

Then the token awkward silence.

After that, I once asked, _"Where were you from before coming to the Circle?"_

"_Denerim."_

"_Me too."_

"_Oh…that's nice."_

As you can tell, not the easiest of companions to hold a conversation with, but that was fine by me. After hearing the tales of the tragedy that befell the Tower before my arrival, I was quite content to be guarding a mage that could have almost been mistaken for a Tranquil.

Yet as we traveled south, I began to feel a growing sense of unease in the almostfrightening wildness of the place. It had been far too quiet sailing through the tree-lined banks, as if the wilds were waiting for something. Was it because of the Blight? Had it reached this far west and the trees held some lingering taint? Or was it something else entirely? I received my answer soon enough.

That unease crystallized the day before our arrival, when it even perturbed the unshakable Ronan. During one of his long periods of silence, he had suddenly asked, _"What do you think has caused the disturbance?"_

I was surprised by the tone the mage used, and turned sharply to see him considering me. His eyes had become clear, his back straight and book tightly closed. I was bemused enough to need time to consider, _"I think…that there doesn't need to be a fantastical reason. You know this far south the lot of them are probably half Chasind and believe the myth of the Witch of the Wilds saving the Hero of Fereldan. A common murderer thought to be something else could easily be the cause of all this"_

"_Hmn… That could be."_

"_And what do you think?" _I was excited to perhaps get a straight answer; instead that sense of foreboding slithered deeper into my thoughts_._

"_We'll have to see, won't we?"_

When the boat finally pulled onto the small lake along which the village lay, the sun had already set. It's still a perfect memory, half moon painting the mist silver, while the warm lights of the village winked at us from across the water. All of us were silent then. I think even the ordinary crewmen could feel that something was wrong. Why, as much as I hate to admit it, I nearly jumped three feet when one of the men splashed an oar too loudly!

In whispered tones as we approached the dock, Ronan told me he could sense a demon. I had thought, 'Maker be praised', for somehow knowing what it was made the fear diminish. Foolish of me to ignore what next he said, '_But it is strange though…I have never felt a demon like this_'. Very foolish.

As we set in, it was entirely too eerie. A small group of the villagers watched from the land, holding torches silently. Inexperienced as I was, I nearly asked Ronan if the whole village had fallen under some sort of possession. My tongue was held as he easily climbed up onto the rotting wood and carefully placed his steps, of course leaving me in my heavy armor to carry our luggage. I broke through the boards twice.

By the time I had dragged myself to stand next to the mage, I was panting and sweating and in no mood to be dealing with the creepy villagers. When the village leader, or whatever he was, stepped forward, a man with the most impressive beard I'd ever seen (though I'm told the Grey Warden that took the Hero from our Tower had a better one), he told us they thought we'd be there sooner.

I of course was irritable on top of being insufferable and said, _"As did I. I am Templar Iollan and this is Enchanter Ronan. But be glad that the Chantry received word of your problem at all. Your village is rather…out of the way."_

That's when we met Eithne, the third part of our little problem-solving group. A middle-aged woman with dark hair streaked grey and cut raggedly in mourning; it made her eyes look possibly even more fierce, especially when she narrowed them and spat at my feet.

Dear Eithne, if not for her we would have probably both died, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

She was the one to move past whatever invisible barrier the villagers had set between us. With a weathered hand, she pushed me back rudely and yelled. I can't remember all of it because I was trying not to lose my temper, but at least a third was curses and the rest something about how I was a right arsehole and the lake demon had taken four people already. I later learned one had been her son.

I laugh now at how irritated I had been then, ready to tear her a new one. Thankfully Ronan stopped me, and addressed them in the same calm voice he used to teach the young apprentices. I had been on watch during a few of those lessons, and that tone will always bring me right back to the library. Walls of books sheltering a half circle of children sitting watching the mage. Some obviously not paying attention and whispering to a friend, while others concentrated with rapt interest. Those are some of the few fond memories I have of the Tower.

Reluctantly, they took us to the building at the heart of the village and told us we'd be staying there for the night. Needless to say, I was surprised to find that over half the village would be staying there as well. The answer was clear though, and it was embarrassing to have to get Eithne to explain with her charming scowl. People were scared, and the small shrine to Andraste (though pagan-like) and village hearth was all the comfort they could get when the songs from the lake began in the darkest hours of the night.

Here though, I encountered a problem. I am not at all adverse to a lack of privacy, Maker knows you gave that up as soon as you entered the Tower, but I needed to take my dose of lyrium. I had been given a set amount for the journey and had been rationing them accordingly, of course not realizing how slow the boat would travel. The tremor had began the day before and then set into a quiet desperation. In hindsight I suppose I could blame my foul mood on that.

In keeping with my earlier behavior, I demanded a more private area and was glad when Ronan also insisted, saying he needed to make preparations for the morrow. A lie of course, but I could have hugged him for it.

Eithne's frown deepened further, if that was at all possible, and she led us to a curtained off area where they kept the injured. It was empty. Shortly after we had arranged our things amidst the filthy fur and wood, Ronan excused himself to the privy, and I was alone.

If you've read all the earlier chapters, I'm sure you've noticed how I dwell on these moments, how they shame me. Every single time my shaking hand holds the tiny glass vial and watches the luminous liquid swirl within, every time I bring the glass to my lips, every illusory demon of shadows and potent nightmare that haunts me the few days following. The nightmares are always the worst.

The light of morning arrived and I was amused to see that our guide and source of information was Eithne. She said it was because she was the only one brave enough to be near the mage (while carefully ignoring Ronan as best she could). Thus our investigation began, though it did not take long to set off on the right track.

We asked who had been taken first and were brought to Ciara's home. A young woman whose father was the next to vanish. I recall it being a particularly disturbing looking house, sitting on stilts over the water like the Chasind's do. The moment we entered, Ronan gave me a look and went to poke around in one corner.

Eithne and I waited until the mage dragged back the sleeping pallet to reveal some strange spell written in what was likely blood. Though like he had said before, it was strange. Obviously the girl wouldn't have had the opportunity to learn Tevinter spellwork, but the crude symbols did seem to have reason behind them.

Our guide had gone pale, but didn't let any emotion show on her face other than disdain. _"Ciara was always a weird one. Liked talking to herself she did, but she were gentle. I can't imagine she'd…"_

And that was that. We had found the likely cause of the demon, now all there was left to do was investigate, and wait for night. So on the instruction of Ronan, we headed out into the bush, him searching for something. Eventually he found it, or rather several somethings. A few of them were old and overgrown with plants, but others, closer to the village were still fresh. More of those strange symbols in the blood and bone of small animals. Ronan said she had probably been experimenting, not knowing which parts were right or wrong. That still terrifies me. That the sodding woman was so unbalanced that she could repeatedly create that evil ritual.

Then we returned and prepared. When darkness began to set in, it was Eithne that said she wasn't letting us go by ourselves (and also pointed out that if I wore my armor I was a drowned idiot—I took her advice). So our huntress and fisherwoman gave us the orders as we rowed out into the lake in one of the larger boats. I feeling worse and worse about the plan and ready to tell Ronan that he could damn well drown himself and only himself. But the mage remained calm, so I had to as well.

We waited hours until the singing began. Not beautiful or seductive or any of the things stories tell you demon songs are, just a normal voice in a language none of us knew. Not being the rational man I am now, I yelled at it to show itself. To our surprise, and horror, it did.

Half fish, half woman and all abomination, it was far worse than the one I had seen before, during a failed Harrowing. I don't know if the person reading this has ever seen an abomination, but I nearly jumped overboard and swam for shore. It was worse when it began to speak in two voices, again that unknowable language.

It was at that moment that Ronan froze all the water around us. It shocked me enough into my senses that I managed to deliver a blow to the creature, starting the beginning of our fight. Now, I won't bore you with a poorly written action scene (I've already tried and wasted three pages), just know that it involved the corpses of the dead villagers, I nearly drowned, and if Eithne hadn't speared the abomination with a line attached, it might have escaped to not be found until it had killed more in some other place.

We returned with the light, injured and exhausted, to a quiet village. No heroes' welcome here and that was all right with me. Those that know me will realize this assignment was where I got the limp—from when the demon nigh bit my leg off. So we retired to our little corner behind the curtains to lick our wounds. Eithne slept and I complained as Ronan worked healing magic on me.

Here is where it happened. The conversation I refer to when people ask why I'm so soft on the mages after all I've seen. I'll try and record it as best I can remember, though I do it no justice.

Ronan actually chuckled after my twentieth curse and told me, rather bluntly as I recall, that I was a bad Templar. Something about not being devout enough. I explained that they were desperate for new homegrown recruits after the Blight and Uldred; I wouldn't have passed inspection otherwise. Then it was my turn to express how strange I found him, as most mages went on and on about freedom—for good reason I understand, but Ronan didn't seem to care.

There was a deep silence between us, filled only by the crackling of the fire. When he answered it was in a voice that filled me with cold, _"It is because of Ciara. Not her specifically, but in general. It is a comfort, not a cause to fear, knowing that you Templars are watching me, waiting to stop me, just in case I ever say_ yes_."_

_-_From_ We Can't All Be Heroes and Champions Now Can We?_, by Templar Iollan, memoirs from 9:24 – 49 Dragon.


End file.
